The Way To His Heart
by Guardian Kysra
Summary: He wasn't stupid or dense or oblivious. But honestly, how was he to know he was falling in love all this time when his life was filled with distractions? Ichigo's POV. Ichihime.
1. Part 0: Distractions

_**The Way to His Heart**_

_**by Kysra**_

**Part 0 - Distractions**

He sits on the floor in the dark with a blanched sheet of too-fancy parchment amidst a growing community of similarly crumpled sheets strewn out across the room. His usually bright hair, muted and grayed by the streaming moonlight, is standing on end with irritation as his frowning eyes try to see the words that have yet to be written.

This is not an unfamiliar problem. He has never boasted emotional articulation as a natural strength; but once the task was given, he had believed if he approached it as he approached battle, everything would fall into place. The fact that he is still sitting here with nothing to show for his efforts only encourages disappointment and temper; and he suddenly wishes either Rukia or Tasuki were here to knock some sense into him. (Or Renji, so that _he_ could kick some ass.)

Ichigo sighs into the silence then groans as he unfolds his body to stretching. He can almost hear them in his head, busting his balls with words like stupid, dense, and oblivious. But he isn't stupid or dense as his friends state with near-constancy; and it would be inaccurate to call him oblivious as well. _No_, he thinks, _how could I have possibly known what was happening all these years? _For one, he had been a teenager and teenagers were inherently stupid. For another, everyone - including himself - knows he isn't the type for in-depth self-introspection.

Besides, as far as he is concerned, it shouldn't be a surprise that he has taken so long to figure it all out. His life thus far has been filled with one distraction after another: ghosts, bullies, his insane family, his equally insane friends and - later - shinigami duties, hollows, and all the crap that seemed to fall into his lap as a result.

But . . . his eyes find the unoffending sheet laid out before him again, if he sat here and thought really, really hard, trying to remember every single moment and detail when she had won his attention (whether through effort, incident, or sheer concern on his part - she is still an incurable klutz after all), the way to his heart had boiled down to one thing: her smile.

**Author's Note: **I've wanted to do an IchiHime forever but it was only recently when this idea came to me. I wanted a fic where Ichigo didn't need anyone to clue him in on Orihime's feelings or his own and it suddenly hit me to do an introspective piece where he's already there but looking back. That being said, I apologize for the lack of length in this chapter but it's only to serve as an introduction. The rest of the chapters will be much longer.

Also, this fic would not be possible if it were not for Emaniahilel, my ficcing soulmate (and co-brain), who wrote a little Teen Titan's fic called It Only Takes a Moment and inspired a next gen TT fic by me called Brush Strokes. This fic will be a sort of amalgamation of the two, featuring Ichigo's POV throughout as he sort of analyzes all the moments that culminated in his love for Orihime.


	2. Part 1: Smile That First Encounter

_**The Way to His Heart**_

_by Kysra_

Part 1: Smile - That First Encounter

"Are you done yet?" The door is opened and the light floods in around a familiar shadow.

His sullen silence speaks for him and soon enough the room is filled with the impatient _tap, tap, tap_ of a foot on the floor. "It shouldn't be this difficult! Just start from the beginning! Write about the first time you met her; when she freaked you out with one of her day dreams; the moment you finally noticed she had boobs! ANYTHING!" Tatsuki's voice drops suddenly into a whimper, "I want to go home already."

As if he really cares. He just wants to be let out of his room already. (Yes, he could have broken out through the window, but there is more at risk than his sanity). "How the hell am I supposed to write anything? I can't see my fucking hand in front of my face let alone the goddamn paper." He can't be blamed if his voice bleeds out his fowl mood. Being placed under house arrest by your idiot "friends" (with your family's full support no less!) would do that.

Tatsuki stomps toward him, kicking the strewn about wads of discarded paper, ready to attack. "Are you telling me you've been up here for _five hours_ and you haven't thought of ONE thing to write?"

He rises to his knees, wary but confident, ready to block if necessary. "I'm telling you that I can't write anything because you guys locked me in here without LIGHT." Did he honestly wish earlier that Tatsuki or Rukia were around to kick his ass into gear? He must have been momentarily insane . . .

He watches as his childhood friend crosses her arms over her chest and stares him down without quarter. "We locked you in here without light because you kept whining that there were too many distractions."

Irritated and two shades from wanting to tear the stuffing out of Kon for not keeping his mouth shut, Ichigo glares balefully up at her, "Now I'm distracted by the dark." He feels only marginally triumphant at the sound of her teeth grinding.

"You are such a brat, Ichigo! You shouldn't need to write anything down anyway."

"You know I'm no good at this!"

She stomps her foot like a three year old having a tantrum, but he's not going to tell her that. "Fine! I'll negotiate for a flashlight . . . but you so owe me."

"Hm."

She turns on her heel and just as he's breathing a sigh of relief that he didn't get punched or kicked this time, she looks back, and he can't read her expression for the light that throws her form into dark relief. "On second thought, I'll let this one slide. Since it's all for Orihime."

He waits till the door is closed and the click of the lock sliding into place signals her retreat before allowing a tiny smile. "For Orihime."

The moonlit edge of his last straight sheet of paper teases at the corner of his eyes as he ponders Tatsuki's words . . . _Just start from the beginning._

**** Nine Years Earlier ****

The first time Ichigo sees her, she is hunched under a man's bleeding body and can barely speak past the sobbing of her throat. He distantly recognizes that she goes to his school though her uniform is soiled with dirt and blood and something that smells like vomit (whether hers or the patient's, he's not sure and doesn't have time to ask). She shifts the weight of her burden as best she can, and he can barely understand her beneath his own voice calling for his father as she chokes out that her brother was in an accident.

His father rushes forward to take the man from her back saying that he will do everything he can then ordering her to stay in the hall. Ichigo moves to retreat - he knows he's no good in emergency situations . . . even worse when it comes to giving comfort - but doesn't get far. She is staring at the curtain shielding her brother from view, eyes wide and unseeing, lips forming words that have no substance.

He's known that expression intimately, felt the pale shock that colors it and the brutal force that draws your strength, so he calmly steps up to her and tells her to sit down before sitting next to her in an eerie kind of silence, the kind that isn't silence at all; and the surrounding noise of his father's movements behind the curtain as he yells at whoever it is at the other end of the phone is too loud. It upsets the deafening nothing between them even as her face crumples just a little more and a scared whimper stabs at his ears.

It is only then that he really looks at her. She's a tiny girl - he distantly wonders how many years separate them then remembers she goes to his school so they must be of a similar age - with a short fall of auburn hair, a pale face flushed over and wet with tears, and a body that sits tense with worry, her hands twisting and fisted in her lap. He realizes then, studying her, that she probably carried her brother over a significant distance and it is morning - when kids begin to make the trek to school and salarymen and women bustle towards work.

_Why didn't anyone help her?_

There is a scritch-scratch to his left and he turns to see his sisters crowding the corridor between their home and the clinic. Yuzu gestures quietly to his bookbag which is raised in Karin's hand, but he merely shakes his head. A tardy won't make much of a difference when he knows he would regret not being here.

Even if he does nothing but sit here next to her. Silent.

The faint sound of sirens can be heard in the distance, and he suddenly wishes he had the courage to reach out and just . . . touch. But the wounds of his mother's death are still fresh, and though he struggles with comforting his sisters at times, he has continually failed to console himself. He's a horrible candidate when it comes to these sensitive situations.

So he stays as he is and keeps watch for her and wonders how she can be so quiet when he would have been screaming.

The seconds seem like hours. They don't speak, barely move. He grimaces when she grinds her teeth against a new wave of grief. It is too quiet and Ichigo swears he sees the man, the girl's brother, standing near her, a tall, hazy shape darkening the corner of his eye.

"He's dead, isn't he?" The murmur is shaky and so full of despair, he can feel the heavy pull of it deepening his usual frown. And still he watches as her hands come up to rub her face, wipe her nose, eyelids fluttering over bloodshot, gray eyes.

"Do you want me to call someone?" He doesn't even try to lie, and she doesn't respond.

The ambulance finally arrives just as he is about to repeat the question and, soon enough, his father and the paramedics are loading a dead man into the vehicle. It is only then that she breaks, again hunched over and crying only this time it is not beneath the living weight of her brother but the hollow chest of a corpse. And it is then that she finally screams, over and over again, _Don't leave me alone, Sora!_

And still he watches and waits - for what, he's not sure; but the man's ghost is still standing beside her with a sad, perplexed look on his face; and all Ichigo wants to do is say, _He's still with you. I can see him right next to you_. But he doesn't, and in moments she is gone with the cadaver and no longer his concern.

He goes to school, comes home, does his homework, gripes about the newest ghost come to haunt him and eats dinner with his family. Life (and death) goes on. And everything - he's beginning to notice - comes full circle.

It's a few days later when he sees her again. She rings the doorbell - again - just as he's about to leave for school; but this time there is no bleeding man on her back, her clothes are pristine and crisp, and the stink of blood, sweat, and vomit has been traded for something light, sweet, and girly.

There is an older woman holding her hand as they bow respectfully in unison when his father makes an appearance. The older woman - much later, years later, the memory will be hazed over with static and he will not recall her face - thanks them for all they weren't able to do, for everything they weren't able to save. And when they rise, the girl meets his eyes and inexplicably smiles. "And thank you Kurosaki-kun. For being so kind and sitting with me. It means so much."

The visit is short and full of the normal condolences and grudging gratitude, and the ladies leave soon after to take care of certain 'arrangements.' He watches after that little girl feeling a jumble of unworthiness, anger, and sympathy, his mind haunted more soundly by her smile than any ghost he has yet to encounter. It is not an extraordinarily beautiful smile; however, it is sad and sweet and lost and sure and so many other contradictory things . . . But more than that, what drives him to distraction is that it is an _unguarded_ expression.

And there is born a shameful part of him that hates her for a moment that she can smile at all now, less than a week after her brother's death, when he hasn't been able to muster a smile for years. It chafes into his thoughts and all too bottled emotions and it is only bare seconds before he can't stop the words from coming out.

"How? How can she smile like that so soon?" He asks the air. _Was it possible she stole mine? Is that why I can't find it? _He begs inside his mind.

His father merely chucks his shoulder (gently, for once) and in a rare moment of sensitivity and raw perception, answers the unspoken, "You shouldn't be so selfish, son. She seems like a sweet girl, and she's in for a lot of pain and loneliness . . . so, maybe, just maybe, she needs it more."

And that's why even though he doesn't recognize her the second time he sees that girl, he never forgets her smile.

To be continued in Part II: Kindness . . .

Author's Note: Things you should know about me:

1 - Generally speaking, I don't bother with disclaimers. I think the fact that I'm posting this on is enough of a giveaway.

2 - Even though I started out writing exclusively in third person omniscent past part., I'm now addicted to writing in present tense. I apologize if this causes confusion. (Plus, I originally wrote this chapter in past tense and it just didn't FEEL right).

3 - I LOVE symbolism so be watching for it.

4 - Subtext is the spice of life.

5 - It might not seem like much of a romance right now, but Ichigo's a kid in most of this snapshot. And kids - as we know - are selfish little snots. (But oh so loveable).

6 - Comments and criticisms always welcomed and appreciated.


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